The Final Rose

Chapter Twenty-Three: Coconut

I continued to stare absently out the rear passenger window of the SUV. The producer assigned to me seemed to sense that our interview was over. He told the cameraman to stop wasting film, and we rode in silence as St. Kitts passed by outside. I wiped at my eyes to get rid of any residual tears. At least I didn't have to worry about smearing my makeup. I'd washed that off long ago.

The night had turned black, and few lights on the modest island illuminated the way. As the SUV rolled to an eventual stop, I squinted into the darkness beyond the vehicle's windows; I thought I recognized our surroundings.

"Are we back at the hotel?"

The producer opened the back door and got out. "There's no flights off the island this late. You'll go back home in the morning."

I continued to sit in the idling car. "Then why did we just drive around for like half an hour?"

"Viewers at home are told you girls leave immediately after being eliminated. We had to get footage for continuity."

I chewed on the inside of my cheek, which I'd worn tender over the past few weeks from biting back my frustration. There was nothing to be done about the waste of time now, so I swallowed down my anger and exited the vehicle.

+ + +

I'd been brought back to the resort, but I wouldn't be returning to the penthouse suite. For the evening I'd be staying in a private room on one of the lower floors. I was given strict instructions not to go upstairs. The cameras would be running, the crew reminded me, and it would ruin continuity if I showed up on film.

My appointed room was small, but functional and comfortable. Prior to coming on the show, I probably would have thought it extravagant, but now I'd been spoiled by our upscale accommodations. The room was equipped with a king-sized bed, an obstructed view of a landscaped garden, and—most importantly—a television. I had never watched much TV back home, but being without it for so many weeks had me craving old reruns of Law & Order. I turned on the television, just because I could, and sat down on the bed. My two suitcases were near the bathroom, transferred to my new room while staff had been driving me around the island in circles.

Except for the droning of a late-night news program on the TV, the room was quiet. There was no idle chatter, no high-pitched giggling. No snoring, no yelling, no laughter. For the first time in recent memory, I was alone. I thought about calling my mom now that I had phone privileges back, but she would have gone to bed hours ago. That call could wait until morning.

I turned the TV off without ever really watching it and stripped out of my cocktail dress. I thought about the other dresses in my two carefully packed suitcases and sighed at the waste. I'd have no need to wear them again once I was back on the Res.

Working on auto-pilot, I began my nightly ritual of getting ready for bed. After a long, hot shower, I began feeling more relaxed and more like myself. Soon, all of this would be a distant memory. I changed into something comfortable to sleep in and set to the task of brushing my teeth.

I had just finished rinsing my mouth when I heard a knock on my door. I closed my eyes and leaned heavily against the bathroom countertop. I wanted to be done with this more than anything, but the producers probably needed more inane footage before they were truly done with me. I probably hadn't given a satisfactory exit interview, and they'd need to reshoot it. I hung my head, thinking about having to wiggle myself back into my cocktail dress and how long it would take to get my hair and makeup re-done before I was camera-ready.

I heard a second knock on my door. "Nokomis?"

I recognized the voice; it didn't belong to any of the show's producers.